Love Lies Rotting
by Chernabog'sDaughter
Summary: Adam's slow, painful death accompanied by the memories of his pathetic life. Enjoy... I know I will.


A SAW fan fiction by Dead Mametchi von Chernabog

Hello, readers. Or as they call you around this website – SAW freaks. I want you to make a choice. I know how you liked my other story, because of the PM's you sent me. There is a wish for more causing in your thoughts, which only I have the antidote for. So read carefully if you will. There are words.

Ok! A bragger and a psycho! I figured you'd like this story, even though it's not my type. It's what meeting with demise Adam would have had if Amanda hadn't brained him. Adam is also the only one in the SAW series I pity. He had full lips. Chapter one first!

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The darkness was utter. I leaned my head against the rusty pipes trying to sleep. Dehydration made several feverish waves strike through my brain and I wondered why it took so long for Larry to get back with help.

I could hear water dripping in the ancient bathroom. I was so thirsty the toilet bowl next to me didn't look all that disgusting.

Hours later, I knew there was no going back. There was not much time left. A small moan escaped my throat, and was careful not to hit the dry, chapped lips.

Poor Zep.

Poor Diana and Allison.

And Lawrence… Was he dead now? Had his body slowly turned cold and starting to putrefy?

My apartment is not lovely. I've tried my best, but you know… Guys just don't discern how to make a welcoming home. I got my couch from a dump, and after some cleaning it was OK when covered with some blankets.

"Adam."

A voice disturbed my train of thought and I looked up. It was my girlfriend, one of the many doubtful persons I seem to attract. This one did many, erm, radical things in her life, such as skinny dipping in a public fountain and eating only raw steaks.

"What?" I replied, really annoyed. I had been standing by the easel, painting on my newest idea: A large firefly being forced into a furnace.

"Sorry for interrupting you, but the landlady called again and wanted the rent paid by Thursday."

Oh, shit.

I had spent my last money a couple of days ago on film. There were two new girls that had moved into the apartment next to mine, and there was something about them invisible to the eye, but there to a camera.

"Adam, I'm serious. If you don't pay the rent soon, we'll be wiping our asses with our sleeves in the gutter."

This threat was worse than only the gutter. But I hate working; I just can't release any creativity at those jobs at the employment offices. Until now I had been waiting tables in a diner. I swore if I ever smelt any more of the lard they use in the food stuff there, I'd get sick.

Furthermore, some small jobs here and there. I always kept dreaming that the name Adam Faulkner would be famous some day, either as a photograph or painter, or maybe even lead singer in the band me and my buddies had founded.

I told this to my girlfriend once, and she told me to get real, because the local asylum was full enough as it was.

Today was Friday. I had six days to find something.

I spent the weekend painting and ignoring the gloomy prophecies provided by my girlfriend. Saturday evening I went down to my buddy, Roman Goldfarb.

Roman had been a member of our band for a while, but he didn't look all too good. Every time I met him he looked like he had lost another two pounds.

His apartment was a lot better than mine. He had saved money for his couch, so the couch actually gave me bad conscience while I was sitting on it.

Roman provided room for rehearsing our songs. Our band's name was Love Lies Rotting, and our genre was Trash. Our newest song was named Perverse Perfection, and it was written on one of my rainy days.

"_That love is sacred, holy_

_Is too much for a broken woman to believe_

_One can never find truth in other's eyes_

_Only dreary, poisonous lies…"_

The song chimed in my ears when I walked to the bus station. I kept my head down, my gaze avoiding the prostitutes.

Suddenly, when waiting for the bus, I heard a voice.

"Adam Faulkner?"

My gloomy thoughts were cut through, like a razor across confetti paper. I turned around to see a tall, black man.

"You don't know me," he said quickly. "But I've heard you're good at taking pictures."

I studied him through the cigarette smoke. "Where did you hear that from?"

"That doesn't matter. The thing is that I have a job for you."

I didn't know what he meant, so i didn't say anything. The whole thing was too weird. Apparently, he took this as an invitation to keep talking.

"There's this guy I want you to follow. This is his address…"

"Wait a second. How much?"

He sighed exasperated. "150 for each time."

"200. Up front."

I walked home, where my girlfriend asked me: "Found any work yet?"

"No," I lied.

"It's over, Adam. Goodbye."

The next day she moved out of the apartment. There was a tear in my eye, but it was a happy tear. The dough in my pockets were mine, and only for me from now on.

I was about to go on my first assignment when I saw this girl in the scruffy hallway. I had seen her before. Amanda Young, the girl that had survived a killer. I didn't know if this was true, but at least I knew she was a recovered heroin addict.

Back then she had been a bone rag in slutty clothes. Now she had gained a little weight, cut her hair and used non – hoochiey makeup and wore relaxed, non – skanky clothes.

"Hey, pretty rock star," I said to her. Seconds later I felt it was an offensive thing to say, so I turned around. "Sorry, it's um, your hair…"

"What about my hair?" she said in a normal tone.

"You know, short, and, erm, spiky, you know…"

I was faltering! Damn!

I tried to make her come to the gig our band had finally got through, but she looked unsure. I asked to take her picture, and I got it.

I didn't dare to turn when she walked up the stairs.


End file.
